My dad, my hero
by cornelia.schuitema
Summary: For as long as Stiles could remember, he had been afraid that his dad wouldn't come home from work. Stiles dad is in the military. It is always hard when you parent is in the army, especially if your other parent already is dead. This summary totally sucks. Sorry. The sotory is much better! Please read it!
1. Chapter 1

**Authors note:**** This is an AU where Stiles dad was in the army when he grew up, and no supernatural things either.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, only Sunflower. And my mistakes. They are my own and I'm sorry. (English is not my first language). **

**Warnings: A lot I think. Character death, PTSD (?), nightmares (?), panic attack (?), depression, suicidal thoughts, and suicide attempt. (You might need tissues) **

**You should know that I have no clue about the military system in USA, or any other country. Hopefully I don't offend anyone with my ignorance. And I don't have PTSD, depression or panic attacks, so I'm not an expert on that either.**

**Well hope you like it.**

For as long as Stiles could remember, he had been afraid that his dad wouldn't come home from work. One of his first real memories was when his mom and dad sat him down as a five year old to give him the talk. And no not _the talk_, just… they explained to him exactly why daddy was going to go away for a while, and that he had to be a good boy and listen to his mom.

At first his five years old brain didn't really comprehend what exactly that meant. Maybe it was something all fathers did? But when he asked Scott the next day he found out that that wasn't the case.

The first time, John was away for 6 months, and when he came home Claudia and Stiles greeted him at the airport. That night, when John kissed Stiles tonight, he asked his son why he didn't have his Spiderman pyjamas on. And his son replied that Spiderman wasn't a real hero. He said that he had a new favourite superhero, his dad.

John was home for two months before he left to go overseas again. This time he is away for almost eight months, and comes back just in time for Stiles' seventh birthday. He surprises him at school, and the look on Stiles' face when he sees him makes him forget about all his friends he has lost for a moment.

It continues like this for a couple of years, until John gets a phone-call when Stiles' ten years old. There has been an accident at home, he doesn't get to know anything else, just that he is needed at home now. The next 21 hours is a nightmare, he has no idea whether his family is alive or not, and the only thing he can think is that he doesn't want to bury his son.

Stiles and his mom had been on their way home from the movie theatre when they were jumped by some druggies in an empty street. They just wanted money for cocaine, but they had a knife, and when Claudia wasn't fast enough they made a move on Stiles. Claudia jumped in front of him, taking the blow of the knife to the lover ribcage.

The ambulance arrived ten minutes later, quickly loading Claudia and Stiles into the back before speeding of to the hospital. When they arrived at the ER they left Stiles alone, and he had to fend off his first panic attack by himself. Hours later the surgeon came out with the news, his mom was dead, and Stiles started screaming. He didn't stop until he couldn't scream anymore, and Melissa McCall had long since taken him home. He fell asleep not long after, still clutching his mother's bloody scarf, which he had taken off in a desperate try to stop the bleeding.

When John finally arrived home almost 24 hours later Stiles was awake, but he still hadn't talked. But when a tired, and newly informed widower, walked into the living room, Stiles looked up and John just barely had time to hear a choked out "daddy" before Stiles flings himself into his arms.

They sat together on the floor, rocking back and forth, John rubbing Stiles' back as the young boy sobbed a barely understandable mess of words into his shoulder.

"I'm sorry daddy… imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry…"

"It's not your fault, baby boy… we're gonna to be okay…"

The next few months both father and son's sleep were filled with nightmares. John's of the war, and Stiles' of his mom's death and his fear of losing his dad. John could barely leave Stiles alone for more than 30 minutes, the boy terrified of losing his father too. John even had to pull him out of school for a few weeks, as Stiles panic attacks stopped him from going.

John had been given leave from the army so he could stay at home with his son. He planned to apply for a deputy employment down at the Sheriff's station. He did, two months after Claudia's death, when Stiles could go to school without risking a panic attack.

It wasn't until six months later, right before Stiles' eleventh birthday that they realised that they might need help. Professional help.

Stiles had been up in the middle of the night to get a glass of water, and as he walked past his father's bedroom door he heard whimpering. He quietly walked up to the door and pushed it open. His father lay on the bed, dripping wet with sweat, crying and pleading in his sleep.

"No! Don't kill them, please… don't kill my family…"

Stiles quickly walked into the room and over to his fathers bed to try and wake him up. At first he tried to wake his dad up by talking to him, and when that didn't work he laid his hand on his dads shoulder to shake it. He didn't have time for that though. As soon as his hand touched John's shoulder, his dad's hand shot out, hitting him on the side of his head.

_John was fighting, they were trying to kill Stiles and Claudia, and he had to stop them. As one of them grabbed his shoulder he reacted on pure instinct, swinging his hand in their direction._

"NO!" John shouted, finally waking up.

But the sight that met him was completely different from the one he had been expecting. There were no enemies, luring, hiding, waiting for a chance to kill everyone he loved. Instead his son was sitting on the floor next to his bed, _in his house, his home_. Stiles was holding his left cheek, blood streaming between his fingers from his busted lip.

"D-Dad?"

John didn't need long before he realised what had happened. It hadn't been an enemy he had punched, it had been Stiles. His son. He had hit his son.

"Oh my god! I'm sorry Stiles, I'm so sorry…" John could feel tears stinging in his eyes, and he let them fall. "Please… I- Stiles… I'm sorry…"

John hid his face in his hands. He couldn't bare to look at his son, surely he must hate him. But suddenly small hands pried away his hands from his face, and he saw Stiles sitting in front of him.

"It's not your fault, daddy" he whispered before throwing his arms around his father's neck, burrowing his face in his neck. "We'll be okay…"

John laid down on the bed, and pulled Stiles down with him. Stiles laid his head on his dad's shoulder, his hands clutching his nightshirt, as if afraid that he would go away. Soon both Stilinskis fell asleep, and neither of them had another nightmare that night.

Things got better after that. They both realised that they might need more help than they originally thought. They both started going to therapy twice a week, one session for both of them together, and one by themselves.

Stiles started hanging out with Scott again, which he had barely done since his mother's death. When Mr McCall left right before Christmas that year, Stiles stays over for the night, comforting his best friend.

They also get a dog, trained to help PTSD sufferers. It was an Irish wolfhound named Sunflower, which is a stupid name for a dog like that, but it was Stiles that came up with it and John couldn't really say no. Sunflower got huge, 31 inches tall and almost 7 feet standing on her hind legs. She slept at the foot of John's bed, waking him up from nightmares if needed.

The next couple of years were good. They still missed Claudia terribly, but they coped. The only thing was that Stiles new that despite the constant danger, his dad missed his old job in the military. He missed his friends, and the feeling of serving his country. But John never said anything, he was happy with what he had. Then the summer before Stiles started high school, the 14 year old boy sat his father down for a talk. He said that he knew that John missed his old job, and that he gave him his blessing, or some shit like that (Stiles' words).

Six months later, right after New Year, John left again. Stiles' still lived at their house and Mellissa McCall checked in on him every day, as well as calling him every morning to make sure he got up for school.

They wrote letters to each other every month, telling each other about their lives. John did well in the military, climbing in ranks quickly. Then on his second tour, or sixth depending on how you count, something happened. Stiles was 16 at the time.

Stiles had just come home from school, and he was reading the latest letter from his dad, when there was a knock on the door. Stiles, who thought that it was Scott who had promised to come over after school, flew up from the couch and practically ran to the door. But when he opened it, he was greeted by two men in uniforms with grim looks on their faces.

"No… please…" he pleaded, feeling tears stinging in his eyes.

"Mr Stilinski, we are sorry to inform you that Captain John Stilinski is MIA, he was captured yesterday morning."

Stiles couldn't really remember what happened after that. When the men left, he sank to the floor with his back against the wall without even closing the door. He put his head in his hands and let out a distraught scream, and when he had started he couldn't stop.

He screamed himself hoarse, until no sound came past his lips in his desperate attempts to suck in air. It was like that Scott found him ten minutes later, arriving at the same time as two police cars that had come to investigate what was going on. It was one of the neighbours that had called, thinking that somebody was being murdered.

The next few months Stiles sank deeper and deeper into depression. The only thing keeping him going was the thought that; _he might not be dead._ Every night he slept in his father's bed, Sunflower pressed tightly against his side, despite Mrs McCall's desperate attempts to get him to stay at their house. He still came over for dinner every day, but went back to his own house to sleep.

School ended for the summer, and suddenly Stiles has far too much time on his hands. When he had school, at least he had something to do with his days, and he had homework so his evenings were occupied too. Now, all he could think about was the fact that his dad wasn't there.

He would have been home now. They were planning on going on a road trip, just them, sightseeing, fishing… maybe go to Canada. Instead, Stiles had no idea where his father is, or even if he's alive.

Instead of hanging out with Scott like he usually do most summers, Stiles is by himself. He takes long walks, sometimes for hours, with Sunflower. One day he didn't realise how far he had gone, and when he finally turned back somewhere around half past six, it took more than three hours to get back. Mellissa was so mad at him when he came home, for worrying her. Stiles figured that she feared that he might have killed himself. She ended up grounding him two weeks.

Melissa wasn't that far off with her suspicion. Since his father's disappearance, and since Stiles had realised that the probability of him being alive were getting smaller each day, Stiles had thought about taking his own life. Hell he had even planned it.

There was something Stiles hadn't told anyone, not even Scott. He had gotten a call a week earlier, from the army. They had informed him that his dad was still missing, as if Stiles didn't know that, and they also said that they were stopping the search soon. If John hadn't been found by December it would be eight months since his disappearance. In December, John would be presumed dead, and all search parties would be stopped. Stiles would receive a flag, _a flag_, and they would help him plan the memorial, if he wanted.

Stiles knew that if his dad was presumed dead he wouldn't be found, not if they stopped the search. Then, even if John still were alive, it wouldn't be long before that changed. Therefore Stiles had decided that if his dad didn't come back, then he wouldn't live on either. He would celebrate Christmas with the McCall's, because he didn't want to ruin that for them, and then he would go home. He would draw a bath, warm (he had read somewhere that it prevented the blood from clotting), then he would slit his wrists. Simple as that.

The rest of the summer flew by, it was as if Stiles was zoning in and out, not really there most of the time. He knew that he was depressed, that he should get help, but somehow that didn't bother him. The less time he spent aware, the less time he would spend missing his dad.

School started again, and finally Stiles had something to occupy his mind with. He might not care that much about his grades, but now he spent more time than ever on his homework. He might actually get straight A's for once.

September past, then October. When Stiles wasn't in school or doing homework he was back at taking long walks with Sunflower. He tried to hang out with Scott once in a while, just enough to ensure that he, or Mellissa wouldn't suspect anything.

Before Stiles knew it, it was December and he still hadn't gotten a call from the army. Together, he and Mellissa planned the memorial. Scott wanted to help too but, he was never really good with planning stuff. He was there as mental, and emotional support though, and Stiles had never been more grateful for his best friend.

It was a quiet memorial, not many people came. Not because John hadn't had many friends, but because most of them wanted to wait for the "real" funeral, where there was a body. And Stiles didn't want everybody to come either. So the only people that came was his dad's old co-workers from the Sheriff's station and Mellissa and Scott, and Stiles of course. It was a nice service, Stiles would like to think that his dad would have liked it.

The days between the memorial and Christmas blurred together. Most days Stiles spent lying in his father's bed, only getting up to eat, or go to the bathroom. Mellissa and Scott let him, coming over once a day with food, and calling every hour to check in on him. They suspected something, that he would hurt himself, not that he could blame them.

The day before Christmas Stiles went to the mall, and bought Christmas presents for Mellissa and Scott. For Scott he got a new computer, because he knew that his had broken down, and for Mellissa he bought a gift card for a weekend at a spa, she always said that she wanted some days for herself just to relax. Of course he knew that they would wonder why he spent so much money on their gifts, but he would just say that he wanted to make the people left in his life happy, which wasn't that far from the truth. It just wasn't the whole truth. He wanted their last Christmas with him to be special, for them to be able to look back at it and smile, despite the fact that his dad was dead, and he soon would follow.

Mellissa had asked him a few days earlier if he wanted to celebrate Christmas this year, she said that they would understand if he didn't. He had replied that he wanted to, and actually it wasn't a lie. He just felt that he wanted the illusion that everything was okay, one last time before he died. It wouldn't be the first time he celebrated Christmas without his dad.

Christmas day was actually quite enjoyable. He got the new GTA from Scott, and from Mellissa a box set of the Game of thrones books. It was a pity that he wouldn't get to read them. At least he got to play the game some, he and Scott played for a few hours as Mellissa had to work a few hours at the hospital. When she came home they cooked dinner together, and after they ate they sat on the couch and watched Home Alone, an old Christmas tradition of theirs.

Late that evening he went back to his house, but not before saying thank you to the McCalls. They might not get why until later, but he didn't want to leave without them knowing how grateful he was.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay here, sweetie?" Mellissa asked as she pulled him into a hug.

"Yeah… I think I'll sleep better at my place, and Sunflower needs a walk anyway." He replied, squeezing her back just a little harder than he usually do.

He hugged Scott goodbye too, and if his friend thought it was weird, he didn't mention it.

"Thanks for today, man" he said, trying not to give anything away that might make them suspect anything, "I love you."

He left before they had a chance to reply.

He spent most of the night up, writing letters for Scott and Mellissa, as well as one for his dad to leave at his headstone when he got one.

It wasn't until the clock in the kitchen showed three in the morning, that he climbed up the stairs, and curled into a ball in his dad's bed. Sunflower as always pressed against his side, head resting on his hip.

He cried himself to sleep.

He slept until 11 the next morning, and when he woke up his phone was filled with texts from Scott and Mellissa. The last one saying to call as soon as he woke up, or they would come over if he hadn't by noon.

He sent Scott a text instead of calling, mostly because he didn't want his last words to his best friend to be a lie.

**To: Scotty**

**11:16**

**Hi, sorry man. Slept until now. Going for a walk, will call when I get back. 2-3 hours at most.**

The reply was almost instant, as if Scott had been sitting by his phone waiting, which he probably had.

**From Scotty**

**11:17**

**It's okay, sleeping beauty. Talk to you later.**

He didn't go for a walk. Instead he made breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, giving half to Sunflower.

He then went to his dad's room, putting on one of his old shirts, wanting to smell his cologne one last time. He went back to the kitchen, giving Sunflower a dried pig's ear, knowing that they kept her occupied for at least ten minutes. Just enough time to get everything ready.

Sunflower realises something is wrong as soon as he closes the door to the bathroom. Stiles can hear her running after him up the stairs, and he hurries to lock the door, knowing that she knows how to open it.

As he fills the bathtub with water he hears Sunflower outside the door, scratching at it desperately in an attempt to get inside, to get to her little master and help him. Because that's her job. By the time the bathtub is filled, she has stopped scratching, and instead she is sitting outside whining. That is almost worse, and Stiles can feel the tears that he has held in since his dad's memorial pooling up, and finally he lets them fall.

"Sorry girl… Scott will take good care of you." He says as he lowers himself into the warm water, still wearing his father's shirt.

He takes one of his dad's razorblades, and presses it against the skin of his fore arm.

The first cut is short, and shallow not much worse that a paper cut, but it still stings like a bitch and he hisses in pain, cursing under his breath. No one said that killing himself would hurt so much.

The next cut is deeper and longer, he pressed harder this time, and instantly blood wells from the wound. He tries to switch hands, but he's fumbling, his hand refusing to complete such a simple act. Instead he drops the blade into the water that is already turning red from the blood.

As he searches for the blade he hears that Sunflower has stopped whining outside the door. Instead she has started to bark, the same kind of bark that she used that time that he got a panic attack and she herself couldn't get him out, she had barked until his father had come running from the backyard, thinking somebody was being murdered.

Stiles is starting to feel light headed and dizzy, his vision starting to blur. He's not sure if it is because of the blood loss, or the fact that he has almost worked himself into a panic attack. It's probably the later. His left arm, with the cut is feeling numb. He's vaguely aware that Sunflower has stopped barking, and it sounds like she's running down the stairs. Seconds later he can hear her in the hallway, but his time she isn't alone.

There is a knock on the door, hesitated at first, but then almost a desperate banging. There is a voice shouting his name, but he's too far off to properly recognise it.

_It must be Scott, _he thinks_, no… he can't ruin it…_

Seconds later the bathroom door flies open, kicked in, and a blurry shape runs into view. But that can't be Scott, the hair is too light and he's far too tall. When Stiles thinks about it, it looks almost like his dad.

The person runs up to the tub, and hurls his damp body out of it before he has a chance to react. Suddenly he pulled against a broad chest, and the position is so familiar that it breaks his heart. A towel is wrapped firmly around his bleeding arm, and then he feels a hand against his cheek, turning him to face the person.

At first their face is blurry, but then as it comes into focus he recognises immediately. It's his dad.

But that can't be true… his dad is dead… isn't he?

"D-Dad? Daddy?"

The person, _his dad_, nods, holding back a sob. As Stiles looks closer, his dad hasn't changed that much. His hair is longer, and he looks thinner, but otherwise he looks just like his dad. Not even close to being dead. The only striking difference is his left ear, or rather the absence of it, it isn't there at all.

"Jesus, kid" His dad whispers, _his dad_, pulling him closer so that his forehead rests against the nape of his dad's neck. "Jesus, Stiles what did you do?"

"Dad… I thought you were dead- they said that you were dead. They stopped searching and- and I- I didn't want to, daddy! I don't want to grow up without you… they said you died… please daddy don't leave me again-"

"I won't Stiles" his dad says, hushing him, rocking them back and forth. "I won't go anywhere I promise…"

Stiles clings to his dad with all that he has, desperate for the comfort, desperate for the feeling of his dad's arms around him. His head is resting on his dad's shoulder letting him hear the comforting beat of his father's heart.

"Don't leave me like that again, daddy…" Stiles pleads, it doesn't matter that he's 16, he doesn't care that he sounds like a small child. He just wants his dad. "Don't leave me again please."

"I promise I won't leave Stiles." His dad says hugging him impossibly closer, one hand at the back of his head, stroking his hair. The other hand is holding his still sluggishly bleeding arm, the bleeding slowing down, but he'll definitely need stitches and it's a constant reminder of what could have happened if his dad had come home just a little later. "Not like that, Stiles. Never like that, ever again"

"I'm sorry daddy… imsorryimsorryimsorry…" Stiles cries into his father's neck, and suddenly he's reminded of their reunion after his mother's death.

"No, Stiles… It's okay, baby boy. Daddy's here. I won't leave… we're gonna be okay." His dad says, pressing a tender kiss on his forehead.

**Authors note: Sooo… what did you think? Like it? Hate it (hopefully not)? Honestly I don't know what happened. I was gonna write something cute and fluffy with John surprising Stiles at school, and this is what came out. About as far as the original plan as I could come.**

**Hope you enjoyed reading. Please review and tell me what you think, even if you hated it and want to ban me from ever writing again from breaking your heart ;) . I've been thinking about writing companion pieces for this. Maybe from Sunflowers POV, or John's as he comes home. Please review and tell me your thoughts, and come with your own suggestions. **

**Thanks for reading this fic (sorry for the ramble), and please, please, **_**pretty please**_** review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note: So this chapter is about Sunflowers thought's throughout the story. Hope you like it. Might need tissues.**

**Disclaimer: Still doesn't own anything. Sunflower might be mine. English is not my first language, and I don't have a beta.**

She didn't really remember her life before she moved in with Master and Little Master. The remembered piles of warm bodies and a safe thump, thump that lulled her to sleep at night. Master, whose name was dad or daddy, and Little Master, whose name was Stiles or buddy or son or kid. They were her first family, they gave her a name a purpose. And her name was Sunflower.

She got taught how to help her masters, because sometimes Stiles and dad whimpered in their sleep, at times crying after someone named mommy or mom or Claudia. Sunflower learned that sometimes it helped just to put her head on their shoulder, or simply lick their face or fingers. Sometimes though that didn't help. When that happened she would bark at them, or go wake up her other master.

Sometimes Little Master gets really scared, usually when Master doesn't get home at the time he usually do. Little Master whimpers then, like a sad puppy he sounds, and he makes scary noises like he can't breathe. Sometimes his face turns white, and once he fell asleep right after, even though Sunflower licked his face and nipped his fingers carefully.

Sunflower loves her new family, and they love her. She doesn't understand though why Master leaves one day and doesn't come back for a long time. During his time away Stiles smelled sad sometimes. Especially the first weeks. But it he smelled of something else too. The same small Master had had that time that Stiles had stood on a scene and everybody was clapping their hands together, apparently Little Master was good at a thing called _Spelling_.

Master comes back, and for a while everything is normal again. Accept Master has started to whimper in his sleep again, and sometimes her efforts isn't enough to wake him up. Stiles sometimes sleeps in their bed, like he did when he was a pup, and that helps.

This time when they go to the weird building with cars that think they are birds and Master tries to leave, she growls at him and tells him to _stay here_. He leaves anyway, and Little Master has water running from his eyes when they go home, and that night it is his turn to whimper in his sleep. It got better though, after a while, and he didn't whimper and whine as much as he used to.

This time though Master doesn't return for a long time. Instead two strange men come, with clothes like those Master wears when he goes away. Sunflower doesn't understand what they says, but they leave soon after, their smell telling her that they are sad, but not for themselves.

Stiles sinks to the floor when the door closes. He smells of despair and horror, just like he does in his sleep sometimes. He starts to whimper, whining on the floor, never noticing as Sunflower tries to calm him down. He starts to scream, and finally she understands. He's screaming Masters name, his old one, that he was called when Little Master was still a pup. He's screaming Daddy, over and over again, until he's just screaming. Soon Sunflower can hear the wailing, howling cars that Master rode sometimes, and then Stiles' friend rushes into the room, Scott-Scotty-Bro-Dude he's called.

Sunflower might not understand what the strangers said, but somehow she knows that Master isn't coming home like before this time.

The time afterwards is hard. Little Master smells sad all the time, lays in his bed most of the time when he's home. When summer comes and Stiles stops going away during the days they take long walks all day. One time they didn't even come home until after it began to dark. Little Master whimpered in his sleep all the time now.

Summer ended, and Stiles went back to going away during the day. Soon the leaves fell from the trees, and it got cold outside the house. Once white-cold fell from the sky, and when Sunflower tried to eat it Little Master smelled happy for the first time since the strangers came, so she did it again. This time Stiles did those weird sounds humans call laughing, then he whimpered falling to the ground, suddenly smelling of sadness.

Soon after they went to Scott and the woman that smells similar to him, that gives Sunflower bacon underneath the table. The whole day Little Master smells happy, they eat and give each other things wrapped in paper. They give the paper to Sunflower, and she plays with it the whole morning.

They go home late, and Little Master sits up for a while, at his desk with papers in front of him. He whimpers once in a while, but he smiles when she puts her head in his lap, so maybe it's okay.

Little Master sleeps long the next morning, not letting Sunflower out like he usually does. When he comes down to the kitchen he smells strange, but he made food for himself, even giving her some. He left for a while, coming back smelling like Master. He gives Sunflower one of those ears that taste so good.

Little Master holds her a while before he goes back up the stairs again, pressing his mouth to her head, smelling kinda happy, but the words he says sounds sad, and it is confusing.

But by the time Sunflower decides that Stiles shouldn't be alone the door upstairs has closed. She runs up the stairs, scratching at the door, she hears water in there. She's whining by the time the sound stops. Little Master is smelling so _sad_. And she's supposed to _help_. But she can't do her job. She can't help.

Then she smells blood. And that's wrong.

Sunflower starts to bark instead. Telling Stiles to "_open the door!_" He doesn't listen. She doesn't know how long it takes, but suddenly she smells something she recognises. She stops barking. And yes, it is.

She's running down the stairs before she can think about it. When she reaches the door Master is walking in, he's back! He smells tired and happy. When he sees Sunflower he crunches down, hoping she will great him like she usually does. But she has a job now, something is wrong with Little Master, and Dad will help.

So instead of rushing into Masters arms, she grabs his hand between her teeth, tugging until he understands she want him to come. When she returns up the stairs, he's right behind her.

Master starts banging at the door, shouting Little Masters names. All of them; Stiles, buddy, kid, son… he smells of sadness and despair and fear.

Finally the door opens and Master rushes into the room. The air instantly is filled with the smell of Little Masters sadness, and hurt, and pain, but also with wrong, because it shouldn't smell like this much blood.

Soon after, Little Master in sleeping in a bed in a room that smells weird, with things that beeps all the time. Master is sitting in a chair next to him, holding a paper that smells of sadness, Stiles' sadness. Dad smells of even more sadness when he looks up from the paper, taking Little Masters hand in his. Sunflower jumps onto the bed, lying down on Little Masters legs, so that she'll know if he tries to leave again.

Sunflower loves her family, her new one, the one after the puppy piles. She doesn't want them to leave, not ever. And when they finally are able to go home, they never really does…

**Authors note: I hope you enjoyed reading this. Please review and tell me what you thought.**

**Do you want me to write more? Like Sheriff's POV, or something like that? Please tell me you own ideas as well, and I will see what I can do.**

**Thanks for reading this!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors note: So… third chapter, or part or something. This time it's from John Stilinski's POV as he comes home.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, other than my own mistakes and I don't have a beta-reader. English is not my first language.**

**I hope you like this.**

**Warnings: talk of torture, sad, language, suicide attempt. Might need tissues.**

John Stilinski was tired, and not only from traveling for almost 24 hours, but from the almost month long hospital stay before that. Being held hostage for almost eight months before that sure didn't help, but at least his capturers had tired of torturing him (physically) two months in, leaving him in his cell alone most days, only taking him out to question once a week. Sometimes they came even less, leaving food once a day, and if he were lucky emptying the bucket he was using as toilet. They were hoping that the isolation would break him, and John was sure that it would have if he didn't know that his son was waiting for him at home. He couldn't leave Stiles alone, so he fought on, refusing to break.

It was late November when the place they held him at got attacked, most of his capturers fled the scene and got killed or captured themselves.

John got taken to a military hospital in Germany to get treated, a dull affair that he didn't want to bother to think about. Especially as they insisted on not letting him contact Stiles, or refused to do so themselves, safety precautions, they called it. John just called them stupid, more so after they didn't let him leave right away, saying that he was too light weight and couldn't travel. Bull shit, John had said, but the doctors didn't really care.

When John finally did come home it was the day after Christmas, and he had been traveling for almost 24 hours straight. First from the hospital to the airport (a ride for almost an hour, as the hospital he was staying at was in the middle of nowhere), then from Germany to Great Britain. After that there was a three hour wait for the flight to New York, only to have to wait there for two hours to catch the next (and last, thank god!) flight. This flight took him to an airport close to Beacon Hills, and it only took thirty minutes to take the taxi home.

He didn't realise something was wrong right away. The door wasn't locked, which meant that Stiles was home. Probably still asleep if he knew his son right. As soon as he steps inside the house Sunflower comes running down the steps, but then again that's nothing out if the ordinary. It's first when Sunflower doesn't stop to great him, and instead rushes up to him and takes his hand between her jaws that he realises something is wrong.

When she runs up the stairs John's right behind her, but still he doesn't think there's anything more serious than Stiles having a nightmare.

When he comes up the stairs he sees her outside the bathroom door, the closed bathroom door. She's pawing at the door, and looks at him with desperate eyes.

John knocks at the door, lightly at first, calling Stiles' name softly.

"Stiles! Are you okay in there?" when he resaves no answer he starts banging at the door, shouting this time, "Stiles ,open up son! Come on kiddo! Open up, buddy please!"

Still not getting any answer, and now John is getting really scared, he kicks the door. It takes three tries before it finally breaks, and he rushes inside.

The first thing he sees when he rushes into the bathroom is Stiles, who's sitting in the bathtub still wearing clothes. He's sitting slumped against the wall, looking like he's barely holding his head up, eyes half closed and droopy.

John immediately runs over to the tub, grabbing Stiles underneath his arms and hurls him out of the water. He's too light. He should weigh more, now John could lift his nearly 17 year old son without any problem, and he shouldn't be able to do that.

He pulls Stiles into his lap, presses him against his chest, and reaches for one of the towels with his other hand. He wraps the towel firmly around Stiles' wrist, silently thanking God that the cut wasn't deep enough to be really life threatening.

He cups Stiles' cheek in his hand, turning his face around so that he can see him. Stiles' eyes slowly find focus again, and he starts to look confused.

"D-Dad? Daddy?" Stiles' voice is small and childlike, like when he used to wake up from nightmares right after Claudia died.

John nods, trying to suppress a sob without succeeding.

"Jesus, kid…" he says, tenderly pulling Stiles, his _son_ that tried to _kill_ himself, closer so that his forehead rests against the nape of John's neck. "Jesus, Stiles what did you do?"

"Dad… I thought you were dead- they said that you were dead. They stopped searching and- and I- I didn't want to, daddy! I don't want to grow up without you… they said you died… please daddy don't leave me again-" Stiles is sobbing, choking on his words in a way he hasn't done since he was a little boy.

John hushes him, pulling him even closer, rocking them back and forth.

"I won't Stiles. I won't go anywhere I promise…"

Stiles clings to him like a small child that's desperate not to be left alone.

"Don't leave me like that again, daddy…" he pleads "Don't leave me again please"

"I promise I won't leave Stiles" John says, pulling Stiles closer. One hand is stroking his hair, and the other is still holding the sluggishly bleeding arm. It's a constant reminder of what would have happened if he had come home a little bit later. "Not like that, Stiles. Never like that, ever again"

"I'm sorry daddy… imsorryimsorryimsorry…" Stiles' cries into his neck, pleading for forgiveness for something that isn't even his fault.

"No, Stiles… It's okay, baby boy. Daddy's here. I won't leave… we're gonna be okay." John presses a tender kiss on Stiles' forehead, letting his lips rest there for a moment

**Authors note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please take time and leave a comment. I would love to get suggestions for more fics to write to this series.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors note: This is the second chapter today, so if you haven't read the chapter from John's POV I suggest you go back and read it, unless you skipped it on purpose.**

**This chapter is sad, if you needed tissues the other chapters I can almost guarantee you'll need it now.**

**Disclaimer: don't own anything, unless you count my mistakes in the English language. Don't have a beta-reader and English is not my first language. **

**And apparently you can't make "crossed out" writing in , or at least I don't know how to. So everything underlined in this fic is supposed to be crossed out okay? :)**

**This chapter is about what would happen is John was a little bit later coming home.**

**Warnings: Suicide, Character death, might be strong language.**

He knew something was wrong the minute he walked through the front door. It wasn't looked, which indicated that Stiles was home, but there were no Sunflower running through the hall to great him. The house was dead silent.

He walked up the stairs, calling Stiles' name, maybe he was just asleep?

When he reached the top of the steps, he saw Sunflower outside the closed bathroom. She was laying on the floor whining quietly, not even looking up even though she must have heard him.

The door to the bathroom was locked, and he walked up to it, knocking on the door softly calling his sons name again.

When he received no answer, he knocked again, harder this time.

"Stiles! Open the door!" he called, waiting a moment before shouting out again. "Open the door, son... Please!"

Again he received no answer, and at that he started kicking the door. It took three tries before the lock finally broke and the door opened.

He stopped dead moments after entering the bathroom.

The bathtub was filled to the rim with water, which was slightly tinted red. Stiles lay face up in the tub, _underneath_ the water.

A second later John rushed forward, hurling Stiles out of the cool water. He lay him out on the floor on his back, leaning back for a moment, hoping, _praying _for a sign of life.

There was none.

The next fifteen minutes was a blur. John didn't remember calling an ambulance, or even staring CPR. The next thing he knew were one of the paramedics saying those dreadful words before looking at him with pity in his eyes.

DOA.

D.O.A

_Dead on arrival…_

_Dead…_

He doesn't realise he has moved before he pushes the paramedic out of the way.

He's vaguely aware of one of the medics pulling the other out of the bathroom, saying they should give him some privacy.

He pulls Stiles into his arms, tenderly cradling his head in the crook of his arm as if he were a little baby.

A desperate mantra of words spills out of his mouth, without him realising it.¨

"No… please, Stiles… Nononononono, no please. Don't do this to me baby, please…"

He pulls the boy even closer to his body, Stiles head falling to his chest as John bows his head and cries into his son's hair. One of his hands is clutching Stiles' shoulders, the other hands fingers is gripping the fabric of Stiles', no _his_ he realises now, t-shirt so tightly that his knuckles are turning white.

Suddenly he realises that Stiles still is warm, his b- his body still is warm. John isn't stupid, and he knows that it means that Stiles hasn't been dead for long.

"Come on baby boy… please, get up! Kiddo… please… Genim… please… you can't be dead… please wake up! Wake up, Stiles! Come on..! Please!" in the end he's screaming out the words, screaming until he's hoarse.

Suddenly he feels arms wrap around his middle, pulling him away from his son. They are taking his son!

"NO! Don't take him please! He's my son… he's my boy… please. He's my boy!"

He feels a prick in his arm seconds later, and a minute later the world goes black.

He goes back home later in the evening.

On the kitchen table he finds several envelopes, one of which is addressed to him.

He gives the other letters to Scott and Melissa the next day, and tells Scott again that it isn't his fault that Stiles died. No, it's the taxi drivers' (for driving too slow), and the doctors' (for not letting him leave), his commanders (for sending him out on the mission that got him captured), the terrorists' (for capturing him), the stupid military's (for not contacting his son as soon as they knew he was alive, due to stupid fucking precautions). Most of all it's his own fault though, for going away in the first place. Logically, he knows it isn't true, but it's easier to blame someone.

The doctors tells him later that Stiles had been dead less than an hour when he came home, confirming his suspicions that the only reason that he was too late to save his son is that the damn taxi driver drove the wrong way, twice. They also tell him that Stiles didn't die from blood loss. He drowned, which makes everything worse, because John knows that drowning is Stiles' worst fear.

He plans the funeral himself, declining Melissa's offers of help. It's a quiet service, but it's the way Stiles would have liked it. Instead of your usual funeral music, he decides to play Into the West from The Lord of The Rings. The film trilogy has always been one of his and Stiles' favourites to watch together, and Into the West is by far his favourite song. There isn't many people there, even less of them are there because they knew Stiles. The only people there that really knew Stiles are Scott, Melissa and himself.

He goes home by himself after the funeral.

He walks straight to the kitchen and takes out the bottle of whiskey he bought the day before. Then he walks up the stairs, and into Stiles' room. He sits down on the bed, and pulls a crumbled envelope out of his pocket.

He still hasn't read Stiles' letter to him, hasn't even opened the envelope.

He can barely bring himself to look at his son's handwriting.

He opens the envelope now. The letter inside falls out, along with a photograph. It's the last photograph that were taken of the two of them before he left, taken at the shooting range, after Stiles had scored his first full pot.

_Dear __daddy__dad_

_If you're reading this, I'm sorry. I thought you were dead. They told me you were, they stopped looking for you. But if you are reading this it means that you're alive, and I am not. And I am sorry for that. Please forgive me dad. _

_I hate you for going away.__ No I don't, sorry. This isn't you fault. I know that you will blame yourself, please don't._

_I just_

_I couldn't keep on living, knowing that I need to grow up without my dad. I can't! You are my rock. _

_I know I am yours too, and for that I am sorry. Please keep on living. For me? Please live for me. I don't want you to kill yourself because of me._

_I remember, one night right after mom died, you thought I was asleep. I wasn't though._

_You sat beside me on the bed, stroking my hair._

_You were talking to mom_

_You didn't think I heard you. _

_You said that, I was the only reason you didn't blow your brains out right after the funeral. You never realised that it was the same for me. _

_I had a plan daddy. If you died, then I died too._

_I'm sorry for asking this of you, because I know that if you asked the same of me I probably wouldn't listen. But please dad… don't die. __Not again._

_I thought you were dead, and if I were wrong I don't want to be the reason you kill yourself. _

_I'm sorry dad._

_Please forgive me daddy_

_I love you. _

_Please don't hate me…_

_I love you._

_Stiles_

John drank after reading the letter, he drank until he slipped into a drunken slumber, filled with dreams and memories of his beautiful boy.

_John was sitting on the edge of the bed, Stiles asleep beside him. In one of his hand he had a photo of his wife, his Claudia. The other hand slowly stroke the sleeping boy's hair._

"_Oh Claudia, please come back… I don't know what to do! Stiles he- he thinks it's his fault! He thought I would be angry with him… he's the only thing that keeps me going. If those bastards had killed him too, I would have blown my brains out right after the funeral!"_

The scene changed, this time to a nearly seven year old Stiles. The time he surprised him at school.

_John was waiting outside the school as the last bell rang, and he watched the kids streaming out of the school doors, all of them looking for their parents. _

_He quickly spotted what he was looking for. A red hoodie, and a small buzz cut head._

_Stiles spotted him a second later._

_He immediately dropped his bag on the ground and broke into a sprint._

_Moments later he jumped into his dad's arms._

"_Daddy! You're home!"_

"_Of course I am, Stiles. I wouldn't wasn't to miss your birthday."_

"_I love you daddy, I missed you…"_

"_I love you too, baby boy" John said, hugging his son close. "I missed you so much my beautiful boy"_

John woke up early the next morning.

He went to the cemetery straight away, knowing that the headstone probably would be up by now.

He sat down in front of the stone.

He traced the words with his finger.

_Genim 'Stiles' Stilinski _

_October 5__th__ 1996_ _– December 26__th__ 2013_

_Son, friend_

_A hero of his own kind._

The police received a phone call at 7:30 in the morning. A woman had been walking her dog when she heard a gunshot from the cemetery.

The police arrived at 7:34, but it was already too late.

John Stilinski was dead, in his hand clutching a letter addressed to hit late son.

No one ever read the letter.

The night before John Stilinski wrote a letter to his son. It only contained two sentences.

_I'm sorry Stiles. I guess we're just too much alike._

**Authors note: I'm sorry. I don't know why I wrote this. I just thought about it when I wrote the last chapter (of John coming home in time), and I thought "what if he had been late?"**

**I hope you liked this, or at least didn't hate it. Please review, even if you did hate it.**

**I would love if you wrote me Promts, for this story, or maybe other stories. **

**I should say that I can't write longer stories that one-shots, unless they are like this story with somewhat stand-alone chapters. I can't for my life write smut, or romance. Hehe. But I think I'm pretty good with angst and hurt/comfort.**

**Thankful for any review or favourite or follow! :) **

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors note: Hi! Here's a new chapter.**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own anything, except my misstakes. :)**

John Stilinski and his son had only fought once. It was a real fight, with screaming (mostly on his part), and it ended with a slamming door as he stormed out from the house leaving his 19 year old son alone as he drove off in his car.

It was the night Stiles told him he wanted to join the army.

John hadn't worried about his son following in his footsteps for a long time, not since what happened when he was away on his last deployment. When Stiles was younger, he had always said that he wanted to be like his dad. John was a superhero, in his young son's eyes, and he knew that Stiles still saw him as such, even though he was almost 20 years old. But those dreams and ambitions had faded the moment John was captured and declared missing in action, or that was at least what John had thought.

Both he and Stiles had been shaken by the incident, and the year following Stiles spent every waking hour, outside of school, tailing after his father. He went with him to his physical therapy and doctors' appointments. When John got well enough he went with him to work, sitting at his desk at the sheriff's station, studying. John hadn't been cleared for field work, something that both he and Stiles felt was good. Instead John spent his first months back working as a deputy doing paperwork and answering calls.

It was now almost a year since Stiles graduated High School, and the boy had yet to choose a collage to study at. John had been understanding when Stiles said that he wanted to take year off from school. Stiles hadn't said it out loud, but John knew that he still had nightmares, and that he didn't want to leave his father just yet.

Some nights, when the nightmares were particularly bad, Stiles would come into his room after waking up. John who would have woken up from the noise, would pretend to still be asleep, even as Stiles lifted the covers and crawled into the bed beside him. They would never talk about it in the morning, just as they never talked about John's nightmares. In his dreams he would sometimes come too late, when he kicked the door to the bathroom down, his son would already have died. When that happened John would come into Stiles' bedroom, and sit down in the armchair beside the bed, just to sit there and watch over his son as he slept.

John knew the terror of war and being in a warzone, and he never wanted for Stiles to experience it as well. Maybe that was the reason for his poor reaction to his son's words. He hadn't even let Stiles speak. He had screamed and raved, all while Stiles just sat there in silence. It ended as quickly as it started, the door slamming shut behind him as he stormed out to his car.

It was almost an hour later when he finally stopped driving. At first he didn't recognise where he was, the road was surrounded by woods and there were no buildings or houses anywhere. It was just then that John's rage faded away, and he gave into the fear underlying it. He hated the feeling, the dread of not knowing what to expect. He feared that if he let his son, _his _baby boy, leave, he wouldn't come back. Not alive.

It was an hour and a half later when John pulled into the driveway again. Stiles was sitting on the porch, mobile phone clutched in his hand and tears in his eyes. As soon as John stepped out of the car Stiles ran up to him and pulled him into a fierce hug.

"What the hell were you thinking, dad?" he whispered as he hugged the man impossibly closer. "You can't just leave like that…"

"I'm sorry, Stiles…" John said, pulling away to look into Stiles' eyes. "I didn't… I can't lose you. Not you too"

"You are not going to lose me, dad." Stiles says as they sit down on the porch next to each other. "I won't go, okay? Not of you don't want me to."

John was tempted to say no, to forbid Stiles from going. He wanted nothing more than to shout: "No, stay here! Don't leave". But he felt that it would be selfish. He couldn't forbid Stiles from going. Not if Stiles really wanted to go. His son had always been impulsive, something he had his ADHD to thank for. But never about important things like this. If Stiles came to him with an idea like this, then it meant that he was really considering it.

And who was John to stop him then?

It was a little more than a year later when Stiles got his first deployment. He was supposed to be away for six months, coming home in time for Thanksgiving. He had already said goodbye to Scott and Mellissa earlier in the morning, and his father had driven him to the airport.

The time passed far too fast, and soon it was time to say goodbye. John turned towards his son, and for a moment he couldn't be prouder of him. As he looked at Stiles he couldn't help but be reminded of himself when he was young. He had been Stiles' age himself when he first got deployed.

He didn't even realise he was starting to tear up until Stiles pulled him into a hug.

"Hey, no tears… Right?" Stiles said with a voice thick with emotion. "I'll be back before you know it."

"I'm really proud of you. You have to remember that." John said, not wanting to think about the words his son had said, them being the same words he used to say to Stiles before going aboard.

"I know, dad. I'll be back soon… I love you…"

Six months later Stiles came back, just like he promised, and he stayed home for a month before going overseas again.

A year later, two months into Stiles' third tour, John got a phone call in the middle of the night.

At first, John thought that it was from the station, over the last two week they had had a string of late night burglaries and they had yet to find a suspect.

But he soon realised that it wasn't, he didn't recognise the number, and the station almost always used the land line.

"This is John Stilinski"

"Captain Stilinski," as soon as John heard his former title he knew that something was wrong. "This is General Newton speaking, your son Sergeant Stilinski has been wounded in action. He is being flown over to Fort Irwin military hospital as we speak, and he should be there within the next couple of hours"

John had never driven so fast in his entire life.

When he arrived at the hospital, some two hours earlier, he learned that his son had yet to arrive. While he waited he got to talk to Stiles' doctor, as well as General Newton, who told him what had happened.

General Newton told him that Stiles had been caught in a bomb blast, which injured him gravely, as well as killing two other soldiers in his crew. Stiles had been lucky they said. He could just as easily have died from the blast.

Hours later John sat in an uncomfortable chair beside his sleeping son, watching him sleep. He looked peaceful, no dreams disturbing his slumber.

John held Stiles' hand between his own, as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"You did come home to me, buddy…" he said, almost choking on the tears "but not all of you…"

He moved his eyes away from Stiles' face, towards his left side. And there on the bedlinens lay the stump, where Stiles' left forearm used to be.

The first months were hard, on both of them. Stiles' night were filled with bad dreams, causing him to wake up screaming, the night terrors worse than they had been ever before. Stiles was angry, at himself, mostly. He felt that he had failed the soldiers in his crew that died. Once he even said that he wished that he had died with them, but when he saw the look on John's face at his words he regretted them.

Stiles struggled to find a meaning in his life, he felt broken, without purpose. But then he figured that maybe he could live for others, for his father and for Scott and Mellissa, until he felt the strength to live for himself.

A year later John had just gotten home from the grocery store and were carrying in the bags from the car. Stiles was upstairs, doing whatever it was he did on his spare time nowadays, but John hoped that he was applying for collage, as he had promised he would do.

"Hey, Stiles!" he shouted up the stairs, as he walked into the kitchen, "Can you give me a hand with these?"

Stiles didn't answer, and in the silence that followed John started to regret his poor choice of wording. Sure this last months had been better, good even, but Stiles was still hesitant to show his injuries, and John knew that he still felt ashamed sometimes. He was just about to say something, beg for forgiveness, anything, when he heard a thump at the bottom of the stairs.

There, at the bottom of the stairs, lay Stiles' prosthetic arm, seemingly thrown from the top of the stairs.

"Well… you got what you asked for didn't you, dad?" Stiles said, walking down the stairs with a grin on his face. "Do you have any idea how long I have wanted to do that? I've waited for the opportunity for months!"

John smiled as happy tears sprung up in his eyes. Maybe Stiles was doing better than he thought?

**Hope you liked this chapter, please leave a comment or a like! :)**


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